Following What's Beneath the Darkness
by dragonwriter24cmf
Summary: Following the first fall of the Dark Lord, two men get together and discuss what's most important to them. And what they intend to do about it in the future. Because Lucius and Severus have both discovered that there are things neither one of them wishes to sacrifice. Not to a cause. Not to a leader. AU, though leans heavily on canon.
1. Chapter 1

**Following What's Beneath the Darkness**

**Summary:** When all else is lost, and the final decision was upon them, Severus Snape was a man who lived by his word and protected those he was responsible for. And Lucius Malfoy was a father and a husband, trying desperately to save his family. But how would things have gone, if they'd both learned that truth about themselves sooner, and decided to act on it? When the Dark Lord falls, two men get together to discuss what's really important to them, and the choices they wish to make. And the consequences of protecting what they most value.

**Prologue: A Winter Meeting (Mid December after Voldemort's fall)**

Severus Snape stared at the fire burning in the grate. The heat it produced seemed raw, inconsequential, next to the burning pain that engulfed his heart, filled his being from the inside out.

Lily was dead. That thought filled him with pain. Unbearable pain. He had not lied to Dumbledore, a month and a half ago in his office, when he had declared that he wished that he were dead. The pain that surged through him was all-encompassing, a twisting, agonizing knot of grief that clogged his throat and made his head pound, that made his very soul burn in anguish. It was a torture that was worse than anything that had ever, ever been inflicted on him by the Dark Lord, or any other person. He'd have almost preferred a Dementor's touch to this.

James was dead. That should have filled him with joy, with satisfaction. It didn't. Instead, it left a bitter, ugly taste in his mouth. He would never get to challenge the former Marauder now. There would be no closure, no chance to confront the man James had reportedly become, to challenge Lily's husband. No chance for a final victory, or even a way to force the man to acknowledge him. Even if it had been as Death Eater vs Auror, or Dumbledore's man, he'd wanted to fight the man once, one-on-one, and prove that James wasn't nearly as strong without his little friends backing him up. But the Dark Lord had killed him, and it would never happen. Odd, he would have thought he wanted to see the Marauder dead. But now that he was, and Black was in Azkaban, he felt lost, without even a rival to hate and distract himself from his grief and his shame.

Dumbledore had asked...ordered and emotionally blackmailed him, rather...for him to watch over Harry Potter. Lily's son. James' son. A boy who it was reported had his father's messy black hair and his mother's vibrant green eyes. The child who had destroyed, at least temporarily, the Dark Lord. The child of the prophecy that he himself had delivered to Voldemort, thus starting the whole chain of events that had led to this. To him, sitting in a chair in Spinner's End, working his way through his second bottle of wine tonight, occupied with the same thoughts that had tortured him for the past month and a half.

He hated the boy for being James' son. Hated him for being the reason Voldemort had attacked the Potters and killed Lily. He wanted to protect him, for Lily's sake, and to atone for his own part in her death. The thought of the boy filled him with terrible, grinding shame. Harry Potter was far from the first child the Dark Lord had attacked, but he was the first to be a specific target of the Dark Lord. And the child had become a target because he, Severus Snape, had been fool enough to tell the Dark Lord the fragment of prophecy he had heard, in an effort to gain further favor. The irony made him feel almost ill. He'd delivered the Potters' doom, for a position that he'd promptly betrayed the minute he'd learned they were in danger, and a moment of glory that he'd lost when he'd displeased the Dark Lord by having the temerity to ask for Lily Potter to be spared.

He drank another long swallow from the bottle. He couldn't feel the burn of the wine as it slid down his throat, and he knew getting drunk would not help. But the hangover would distract him tomorrow morning. Being physically ill would distract him. At least if he was suffering from bodily misery, he would have less energy to ruminate over the mental and emotional torment he suffered. And passing out might let him sleep without dreams, or the nightmares that had woken him with his own muffled screams bouncing off the walls of his house for the past three nights. Dreamless Sleep would have worked as well, and he was more than competent to brew it, but he wanted this. Dreamless Sleep was both dangerous and addicting if taken too long. And there was a catharsis of sorts in drinking oneself stupid. He had once hated his father for doing so, but he was beginning to see the point to it after all.

A knock on the door roused him from his thoughts. He debated not answering, but if it was Dumbledore, the old man would come in anyway. If it was a messenger from Dumbledore, they'd stay out there and pound on his door until he did answer. And if it wasn't, then he had no idea what the person knocking on his front door wanted, especially at this hour of the night, and the distraction of figuring it out might be a welcome one. At least he'd have something else to think about for a few minutes, even if it was how to get a drunken Muggle tramp off his doorstep without getting arrested. He shoved himself to his feet, not even swaying (he'd always had a decent head for drink, legacy of his father) and stalked to the door as his uninvited guest knocked again, sounding far more impatient this time.

He threw open the door, not bothering to alter the black scowl on his face, and stared at his visitor in surprise. "Lucius. Or..." He raised an eyebrow as he took in the tasteful but expensive robes the other man wore. "Perhaps you prefer Lord Malfoy?"

"Lucius will do, Severus. And do invite me in. Surely your mother at least taught you that it's rude to keep guests standing at the door." Lucius matched him drawl for drawl, raised eyebrow with raised eyebrow. The aristocrat had much more grace and refinement in his gestures, but Severus knew for a fact that he could win an intimidation contest any day of the week.

"My mother taught me very little worth knowing. And she would have said that unexpected, uninvited guests deserve whatever courtesy, or not, they are afforded." Still, he let the other man in, and gestured him through to the sitting room. Fortunately, there was another chair. A gesture moved it closer to the fire.

Lucius eyed the empty bottle by his chair, and the half-full one, and his eyebrow arched again. "You've been busy, I see." The lack of a glass anywhere nearby was also noted, and a faint sneer curled the older man's lip. "Really Severus...your taste in wine is adequate, at least, but your manners..."

Severus snorted and summoned two glasses, and another bottle for good measure. "I was not expecting company. My taste in wine was largely acquired with my drinking habits in your social circle, so kindly do not criticize it. As for my manners...how I choose to behave in my own home, in private, is none of your business. Nor anyone else's." His voice was harsh.

"True. But I did name you to be one of my son's guardians, if need arises. I should hope you would make a better showing, should I allow you to care for him." Lucius took the glass he handed him and sipped at the wine he'd poured.

Severus snorted again. "Were your son in my charge, I wouldn't be drinking. My father..." he bit the word out in tones of disgust. "...taught me that much, at least." A bitter smirk curled his mouth. "And there are only two circumstances in which your son might come to my hands. One, that you and your better off, elite social friends are all indisposed, in which manners would be the least of the boy's problems, or two, your son being a student at Hogwarts. Which, admittedly, is far more likely to happen, but will also insure that there are plenty of other influences to offset my poor example, should the boy even bother looking to someone as lowly as a teacher for any sort of guidance."

He didn't miss the way Lucius' eyes sharpened at the mention of Hogwarts. He had said it deliberately anyway, knowing that Lucius hadn't come to complain about his social habits. Better to give the man an opening now. He was in no mood to tiptoe around the subject for the next twenty minutes before coming to the point of the other man's visit. Even if it was amusing to see the polished, well dressed aristocrat trying to look comfortable and at ease in Spinner's End, one of the poorer neighborhoods in Britain, Muggle or magical. He could see the minute stiffness in the man's shoulders, the sidelong looks he was giving the dust covered shelves, as if he expected the air of the run-down, barely maintained house to stick to him, and magically plaster dust and poverty all over his person.

"Ah yes...Hogwarts. I understand you are a professor there." Lucius sipped his wine again. "A matter about which I've heard several...interesting rumors."

Severus scowled. "You already knew I worked there. And why."

"That you worked there...of course. Everyone knows. As to why...there is the question." Lucius shot him a calculated, enigmatic smile over the wine glass, a subtle challenge.

Severus allowed himself a bitter, edged smile, and all but slammed his wine glass down. "If you have a point, Lucius, then speak it. If not, leave, and leave me to my drinking. I was making excellent progress before you came, and I would like to get back to it, unless you've a better distraction to offer." He was in no mood for subtleties, and enough of the wine had settled into his system to eliminate a fair amount of courtesy. Besides, Lucius knew he was sarcastic and irritable when he'd been drinking. If he chose now to speak with him, then that was the other man's fault. He lifted his cup to take another swallow.

"Indeed." Lucius quirked an eyebrow, and looked somewhat amused for a moment. Then the amusement disappeared, his gray eyes solemn as he set his own wine glass down. "According to the information we of the inner circle received, you entered Dumbledore's service on the Dark Lord's orders, as a spy. However...I have heard rumors of an entirely different story. Rumors that you were arrested, and Dumbledore himself spoke for you. Rumors that Dumbledore testified in a closed session that you were a spy...for him. Against the Dark Lord."

Danger warnings sparked in his mind. The faint alcohol haze that had settled over him, the lassitude born of grief and indifference, vanished like morning fog on a summer day. He scowled and set his own glass down. "Rumors are always drifting around. I've heard rumors that you testified to being under the Imperious Curse as well. We both know the truth of that claim."

Lucius chuckled, a low, dark sound that had no humor in it, only appreciation for Severus' response in the dancing battle of wits they both so often engaged in. "Quite. And in truth, I do not care, not at this time. The Dark Lord is defeated. That fact cannot be challenged. If you wish to hide in Dumbledore's shadow to avoid Azkaban, it is of no importance to me. As you say, I have taken my own measures to avoid imprisonment. And I know well you do not have my...resources, shall we say."

Meaning he wasn't rich enough to bribe the Minister of Magic, or various members of the Wizengamot into giving an implausible story a little more credence than it deserved. He scowled, but let the barb pass him by, and waited for Lucius to make the next move.

Lucius lifted his glass once more, sipped, studying the wine in a feigned nonchalance that fooled neither of them for a second. Severus didn't move. After a long moment, Lucius replaced the glass on the table. "Indeed. It was an inspired move. However...there are several things that puzzle me, Severus." He turned his gaze gray eyes meeting black. "I wonder if I might trouble you for answers."

Severus shrugged, a relaxation as feigned as Lucius' own, and just as recognized as the act it was. "If you wish. I cannot promise to provide them, but you may as well ask your questions. Everyone else has done." He'd received multiple owls a day for the first few weeks. More from his colleagues at Hogwarts, who had resorted to everything from pointed inquiries in the staff room to piercing glances and muttering when they thought he wasn't paying attention.

"Of course." Lucius nodded his acknowledgment, hiving doubtless had a similar situation. "These then, are the facts that concern me." His hands fidgeted on his snake handled cane, then stilled.

"Dumbledore spoke for you. Well enough to convince the Wizengamot, well enough that even my best information sources can reveal no more than that he spoke for you. It is...a great deal of trouble to go through, for one man. Enough to make me wonder. After all...Dumbledore is many things, including rather soft-hearted, if it comes to that. But he is not a fool. Nor, may I add, is he particularly easy to fool. He is misguided, perhaps, but he is well versed in both spotting and guarding against those that act against his aims and interests."

Severus grimaced. "Dumbledore is a believer in second chances. He has a soft spot for a well told tale of remorse."

"Perhaps. But...I know exactly how well he cared for you as a student, Severus. I wonder what inspired you to seek his protection, after all this time." Lucius leveled a firm stare at him. "And I wonder why he should give it...when he gave you none as a student, back when it was far more likely that you were an innocent boy. More to the point...I myself spoke before the Wizengamot, spun my own story of remorse and regret...and Dumbledore did not look upon me so favorably. He could not condemn me, but he granted me no grace either, save that I have a young son who needs a father." Lucius tipped his head, regarding him with shuttered eyes that gave no hint to his own thoughts. "It makes me wonder, Severus, what you told him, or what you did...to grant you such a mighty protector."

Severus reached for his wine, sipping it as if Lucius' words had no effect, but his mind was spinning. Lucius was far from the only one to have recognized the oddity of how Dumbledore had sheltered him. He was, however, the only one to analyze it, to focus on it with such intensity. Most of the others had been satisfied with the explanation he had already given. Followers of the Headmaster had accepted his tale of being reformed, sickened by Voldemort's actions, albeit with varying degrees of skepticism. Followers of the Dark Lord had been placated with his tale of being a spy in Albus' camp.

Lucius was different. And there was something about the tone of the older man's questions that he couldn't pin down. Some undercurrent he could not quite grasp. He took another sip, then decided to go with an edited version of the truth, to see what it brought him.

"Dumbledore's previous Potion's Instructor and Head of Slytherin wanted out. Wanted to retire. As I am qualified, the old man would prefer to keep me close and use my skills, rather than seek another to fill the position."

Lucius made a sound that would have been a snort, on anyone less refined, or laughter, in a less tense situation. "You do not have a temperament for teaching. Though I'll grant your skill in Potions is impressive."

A grimace curled Severus' mouth. "So Dumbledore said. I believe he simply wants to keep an eye on me. Regardless, if teaching brats and idiots can keep me out of Azkaban, it's a price I can afford."

"Quite reasonable. However...with your temperament...I wonder that he trusts you with your students. Unless...there is another price tag attached. Dumbledore is a shrewd bargainer. And he takes precautions when he must, whatever weaknesses he has."

Severus scowled, hand tightening on his glass in unfeigned anger as the memory rose up inside him. The memory of Dumbledore's words. The words he had used to trap him.

Lucius noticed. "I see...another price indeed." He picked up the wine bottle and poured a few more ounces into Severus' glass and his own, a silent invitation, and admonishment to calm down.

He took the wine and the admonishment in a long slow gulp, swallowing half the glass empty as Lucius sipped his own in a slower manner.

At length, he felt calm enough to speak again, though his tone was acidic. He knew that, at least, wouldn't bother the man sitting across from him. "Dumbledore...recalls that I was...associated with Lily Evans."

"Ah yes. The Mud..." Severus shot Lucius a snarling glare over his cup, and Lucius amended his phrasing. "The Muggleborn girl. The redhead from Gryffindor. You two had quite the relationship, as I recall...though I was under the impression that it ended in your Fifth Year. Something involving Potter..."

"Finish that sentence, and I will curse you, guest in my house or not." The shame and rage of that day had never left him, and even hearing Lucius reference it brought a red haze to his vision. His hand tightened on the glass again, and he set it down before he shattered it in his fist.

Lucius nodded, accepting the warning and the rebuke. "Still...I fail to see what your childhood connection to Potter's wife has to do with Dumbledore protecting you."

An angry snarl crossed Severus' face, and he shoved himself to his feet, to stare into the fire. "Albus Dumbledore issued me an...ultimatum. His exact words were this: 'If you are truly remorseful, then you will protect Lily's child.' He even went so far as to tell me exactly the ways in which the brat resembles her. As if that was meant to sway me." He had demanded that Dumbledore never reveal the truth of their bargain, but it was the only argument he had left. Lucius could take it as he chose. He hoped he'd left the statement ambiguous enough.

"Ah..." There was a wealth of understanding in the Malfoy lord's tone, as if the pieces of a puzzle had clicked into place for him. "And you...agreed, I take it?" He didn't answer, and after a moment, he heard Lucius rise and stand beside him. "Interesting."

There was a small pause, the silence interrupted only by the cracking of the fire, then Lucius spoke again, his words slow and thoughtful. "That Albus would arrange for someone such as you to protect the boy, that he has spirited him away to a 'safe location' that no one I have access to knows the location of...means he fears the child is in danger. But what danger, I wonder?"

"The Dark Lord." There was no reason to be anything other than blunt for this. "No one knows what happened in Godric's Hollow. The only true witness is not even old enough to stop needing nappies, let alone speak. And as Albus Dumbledore knows well, 'defeat', 'destroy', and 'kill' do not mean the same thing in every case. The Dark Lord was defeated. That is known. He was damaged, possibly destroyed. That is not guaranteed. There is no proof at all, no body, no nothing, to verify his death. Given his quest for immortality, which even the most ignorant street urchin could have guessed at or known about, Albus Dumbledore is not nearly as ready to believe he is gone for good as the rest of the wizarding world."

"I see." Severus had no doubt that Lucius did, in fact, see the situation. "So...the Potter boy, the Boy-who-lived, will return to the wizarding world at some point. And Dumbledore expects the Dark Lord to return in some form or fashion as well."

He didn't bother to refute or confirm the other man's statement. Instead he waited. Lucius would either say his farewells and get out of the house, or he had something else he wished to discuss, and he would say so eventually.

Lucius kept silent for a while, long enough for it to grow oppressive. Then he spoke. "You were high in the Dark Lord's favor. I must admit, potion skills and spying aside...I was astounded at how fast you rose in his esteem." Another pause, then: "Tell me, Severus, why did the Dark Lord attack the Potters? They were a nuisance, I grant you, and rather troublesome, but as they were evidently hiding under Fidelius, and saddled with a new child, they could not have been much threat. Why did he go after them?"

Severus snorted. "Why do you ask me what the Dark Lord was thinking? Perhaps I was favored, for a time, but the Dark Lord was ever cautious with his words and plans."

"Perhaps. But I know for a fact that you know more than you are admitting. After all, did you not ask our lord to spare Lily Evans Potter? Were you not punished for your temerity, only to be granted our master's indulgence?" Severus spun at that, to find Lucius regarding him with a thin, cold smile upon his face. "One hears...many things, when one is playing host to the Dark Lord, or seeking his advice on various matters. A matter that might cause one to delay departure can lead to...interesting windfalls of information."

Cold understanding swept through him, clearing any possible lingering fog from his mind. Lucius knew too much for him to hide. Nevertheless, he wasn't going to make it easy. "I thought it would be...amusing, to take James Potter's wife from him. To prove to Lily Evans that she had chosen the wrong man after all."

"Perhaps. But I am not so sure I believe that. A bit...passionate, for a schoolboy grudge and a Mudblood who held no interest for you other than idle conquest. And idle conquest has never been a particular indulgence of yours, Severus." Lucius' eyes gleamed hard and predatory in the firelight. "And were she or her husband the purpose of the assault, not even our lord's most forgiving mood would have earned your forgiveness for daring to question their deaths." His mouth tightened into a sharp, hard line. "Tell me, Severus, why our lord and master was targeting an infant in the cradle. What importance did Harry Potter have that the Dark Lord would actively hunt him, and Dumbledore would so tightly shield him. I am certain you know the answers." His fingers flexed on the handle of his cane in warning.

Lucius would hex him. He was a good duelist, better than the Malfoy lord. However, he'd also been drinking, and however sharp his mind was, he knew his reflexes would not be. Besides...this house was all he had, poor refuge though it was, and he didn't want to risk a spell battle being seen. Too many complications could arise from that.

There was nothing to do but tell the truth, albeit as little as possible. He was sure Dumbledore would want him to lie, but he also knew that the lie would, one way or another, be revealed eventually, and that would be...problematic. At best. "There was a prophecy. The Dark Lord believed the Potter's son was the one to whom the prophecy referred. He wished to deal with the matter before the boy became troublesome." His mouth twisted. "The prophecy was given to Dumbledore. I was there, and heard a part of it, before I was ejected from the premises. Clearly, something in the part I did not hear was...unfavorable. Regardless, I did not know that before I took the words I had overheard to our lord. Words he then acted upon."

"Ah." Lucius nodded. His grip relaxed. "A prophecy. I suppose you cannot tell me it's contents."

"No. I am sworn to silence." By Dumbledore and the Dark Lord both, and he'd come close to breaking the vows and suffering the consequences with as much as he'd said.

Lucius nodded and, after a moment, returned to his chair and settled into it. Gray eyes returned to staring at the fire. Severus took his own seat. He still didn't know what Lucius wanted, but the explanation was apparently not the end of it.

It seemed an eternity before the older wizard spoke. "Perhaps, for this time, we may lay aside our masks and speak plainly, Severus. I will do you that courtesy, if you will swear to do the same."

A puzzling request, even more so coming from Lucius Malfoy, of all people. Severus considered a moment, then nodded. Lucius was not a good enough Occlumens to know if he lied. And he wanted to know what Lucius was thinking. To have brought him to Spinner's End, to have him speak those words, it was serious indeed.

"I have long thought that I agreed with the Dark Lord's goals to purify wizarding society, to stamp out those who were unfit, Mudbloods and half-bloods. To strengthen our government, and make wizard-kind a force to be reckoned with and feared. However...I have a son."

"And your point, Lucius? Having second thoughts?" That surprised him.

Sharp gray eyes snapped to meet his, and Lucius scowled. Then he huffed in exasperation and looked away, and the tension in his frame melted, leaving him looking tired, in a way Lucius had never looked before, not even in the aftermath of the worst of situations.

The blond took a sip of his drink, so long left alone, then spoke in a low, thoughtful tone, his words coming slow, as if he were still putting his thoughts together. "I have a son, Severus. He is Harry Potter's age, his elder by only a few months. Harry Potter will surely come to Hogwarts. And so will Draco. If the Dark Lord chooses to hunt the boy, my own son may lie inadvertently in his path. My son may be endangered, even with all of Albus Dumbledore's protections. For, you know as well as I, Slytherin blood and the sons of accused Death Eaters are unlikely to rank high on the list of things Albus Dumbledore wishes to protect."

Severus nodded. "I would be there. And I would protect the boy for you, as much as I can. But my actions are likely to be limited by circumstances, and Dumbledore's leash."

Lucius tipped his head in response, lifting his glass to acknowledge the promise. "So...it will come to war on children, among children, unless you think that Dumbledore and the Dark Lord will wait for the boy to reach his majority."

"Considering they did not even wait for him to begin walking and talking, it is doubtful." Severus picked up his own drink. There was still the possibility that Lucius' words were a trap, to get him to betray himself, but so far Malfoy had said far more damaging things than he had. At least, in so far as any other Death Eater would be concerned. "This concerns you?"

"It does. I do not wish for my son and heir to be placed recklessly into danger. And while I am well aware that children are frequent victims of the things that must be done...I cannot say that it sits entirely well with me, to make war on children. Nor does the thought of my son being caught up in this war sit well with me. Should Draco choose to stand beside me as a man, all well and good. I shall certainly raise him to do so. But I do not want my son to wander into this conflict as an untried youth, nor be sacrificed to blind ambition or Dumbledore's plans."

Severus said the first thing that came to mind. "There will be no way of keeping Draco entirely out of the conflict. None of us will be able to avoid it. The best you can do is keep him from declaring one side or the other. Keep him from the Dark Lord's camp, and as far out of Dumbledore's eye as possible. And even neutrality will be no guarantee of safety. It is simply the best you can hope for."

"I am aware of all these things. And you...you will stand between both sides, will you not? Whichever side you truly work and spy for..." Lucius gave him a cold smile. "You will play the man in between, won't you? Neutral, as you say?"

"I will do as I must." He had given his word to protect the Potter brat, but beyond that, he had no idea. He was Dumbledore's and he had learnt a few hard lessons, in this past year or so. Painful ones. He had been changed. Long before Halloween Night and Lily's death, he had lost his ability to view death and torture with jaded, uncaring eyes. In truth, he'd had little stomach for it. Too many Death Eater revels reminded him of the Marauder's own torment of him. And the victims often bore far more resemblance to him than they did to the spoiled callous brats that Potter and Black had been. For a while, he'd been able to maintain a savage delight in getting some of his own, in the freedom of being oppressor rather than victim, but none of the victims had been the targets he'd wanted, really, and the brief headiness of it had worn off rather fast, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

"So...we agreed to speak without masks, Severus. So tell me...will you protect the Potter boy, as Dumbledore has ordered? Or, shall I say...will you protect him with the skill you truly possess, or simply go through the motions and make your excuses?"

He considered lying. But if it was a trap, Lucius had already damned himself by saying he did not wish to risk his son, by hinting that he would dare to challenge the Dark Lord's will in any way. Besides...he was not in the mood to lie. "I will protect him. I swore I would, if only for the fact that he is Lily Evan's son."

A brief smirk twisted across the older man's mouth. "It was more than a boyhood grudge then." Severus scowled at him, and was surprised by the odd look of relief in the older man's eyes. Well, he supposed Lucius was glad someone else was fool enough to admit that they might oppose the Dark Lord. "I had wondered, given what I overheard."

Severus scowled. "Your mother should have taught you that eavesdropping was impolite."

Lucius only waved the rebuff aside. "My parents were true Slytherins. Survival above all. A bit of listening at keyholes can save your life. Or alter it forever, as you seem to know...quite well."

That hurt. Severus fought the urge to hurl his glass into the fire, just to listen to it shatter. He only had so many cups, and he didn't need the hassle of buying more, not right now. Instead, he poured more wine into his glass, deliberately ignoring Lucius, and swallowed a fair amount. The slight heat of the wine was an effective counter to the simmering rage boiling in his gut. "What is it you really want here, Lucius?"

"To know where you stand. To know what you will do, when Harry Potter returns, and if the Dark Lord rises once more." Lucius studied him for a moment, then set his glass down and leaned forward, his eyes serious and hard with determination. "I mean to protect my son, Severus. My son and my wife. I will not permit either of them to die, nor to be harmed if the madness of war returns to us. I will have little choice, should our lord return..." His left hand flexed, and Severus felt his own fingers twitch in sympathetic response. "...but I will see my son and my wife as safe as possible. Thus, I must consider all potential avenues of protection for them." A brief grimace drifted across his features. "Dumbledore has ordered you to protect Potter, and you have agreed. So...answer me honestly, do you think the boy has a chance?"

"I have no idea. Dumbledore is a mighty protector, as you have noticed, but his protection did not shield the Potters. Not adequately." Severus scowled. "Had you asked me a year ago...six months ago, I would have told you that the child was simply bait, and helpless bait at that. But with what has happened...the boy survived the Killing Curse, and not even Dumbledore knows why for certain. It is just as evident that the Dark Lord was severely damaged, if not killed outright. This turn of events is something no one could possibly have predicted. Given that...the odds of his survival are impossible to predict at this point."

"True. But Dumbledore is a mighty shield, as you say. And you are not an inconsiderable wizard yourself. That adds to the odds in the boy's favor, does it not?" Lucius toyed with his cane. "I cannot be seen to aid Potter, not directly. However...Draco will be in his year. If he is raised neutral, if he and Potter come to know one another..."

"Then he can at least make his own decision. And I can protect him as well." Severus downed another swallow of wine. "To be neutral is not the safest place to be, but it is far less dangerous than choosing a side, particularly at this point. And it will leave you an opening, to stand on Potter's side, supporting your son, or at the Dark Lord's side, trying to train your son."

"Indeed." Lucius nodded. "However...the proper mindset will need to be established."

Severus snorted. "Which will require some alterations on your part." Lucius scowled, lips thinning in distaste, and Severus fixed him with a stern expression. "You cannot tout blood superiority and pureblood supremacy and hope for Draco to remain unaffected. Even should you choose for me to have a greater prominence in his life. My presence as your associate will only change so much." Lucius knew well he was a half blood. He considered. "Perhaps, a better position to take might be that you feel muggleborns and half bloods have less chance to behold the...advantages of wizarding society, and are not...adequately informed."

"Ah...training and educating, as opposed to elimination?" Lucius looked thoughtful. "Perhaps...you would support me in this?"

"I would." That much he could promise. Dumbledore would no doubt suspect Lucius' motives. Well, he did as well. Fair enough. And they had 10 years before Potter would grace Hogwarts. Long enough that even Lucius might change.

Lucius was still thinking. "I wonder...do you think Potter might be swayed?"

Severus considered. "If he is at all like his parents, he will never join the Dark Lord. As a matter of fact, even if he were not like his parents...to join the man who murdered them...it would be the work of either a truly dangerous individual, or a coward. However...it might be possible to influence him somewhat, to at least present alternative viewpoints. But it would have to be handled very carefully." The thought appealed to him, now that he was considering it.

He had lost his interest in the Dark Lord's campaign, and his methods, a long time ago. And yet, he could not help his anger, at Dumbledore who manipulated even his grief for Lily to serve his causes, and at all those who had stood by. Fools who had not fought for the wizarding world. Government officials who were so quick to issue orders and cause panic, but would not take the front lines. And even older wounds, from all those who had stood by in his youth. Those who had never helped him, in his lonely childhood. Those who had stood by and watched, as the Marauders had tormented him. Thinking of those things...raising a Harry Potter who understood those things, who was controlled by neither side and might be persuaded to find a balance for all...that idea did hold appeal.

"I take it this idea meets with your approval?" Lucius sounded amused, and Severus new his old friend had read his thoughts in his face. He was annoyed with himself, but he couldn't bring himself to worry too much.

"I find myself...intrigued by the possibilities. However, at present, the boy is beyond our reach." he sighed. Dumbledore had told Minerva McGonnagall and Hagrid where Potter had been placed, but his best efforts couldn't pry that information out of any of them.

"We will not be ready to act for some time, in any case. Both of us have reputations to establish. And it will be years before the boy is of an age to be influenced." Lucius drained his wine, then rose to his feet. Severus mirrored his gesture as he followed his guest to the front door. "It is enough to have a plan in place, my friend. We can afford to wait, and prepare, until Potter comes to the wizarding world. To Hogwarts."

Severus raised one eyebrow. Lucius had never called him 'my friend' before. He'd called him by his given name, and frequently, but never something like that. The closest he'd gotten was the rare occasions where he'd introduced him as 'my associate' or 'my colleague'. Or in Hogwarts, as 'my housemate'.

Lucius caught his expression, and returned a sardonic smile. "Well, we must start somewhere." He raised his cane in a small salute. "I bid you good evening, Severus. Do stop by the manor soon. I believe...we have much more to discuss. And I'm sure Narcissa would love to see you." Lucius stepped off his doorstep and Apparated away without waiting for a reply.

Severus snorted and shut the door. Narcissa was not that fond of him, but they tolerated each other well enough. And he was sure he and Lucius did have much more to discuss. He turned back to his sitting room and surveyed the wine bottles and two glasses.

He felt nowhere near drunk. But now he also felt very little desire to be drunk. Lucius and his surprising revelations and proposals had distracted him. Even as he reached for the melancholy that had enveloped him before, his mind was distracted by the things that would need to be done, for their efforts to have any chance of success. And to be able to plan, to be distracted from his grief...he felt as if some sort of weight had been taken from him. His heart still ached, and would forever he felt, but the anguish had been eased by a hope that the future might be swayed. Swayed by his hand. Not Dumbledore's, or the Dark Lord's.

He considered a moment longer, then capped the wine bottles and put them away, then set the glasses in the sink. There was a mild sleeping potion he could take that would leave him refreshed, without the heaviness of Dreamless Sleep. And then, tomorrow...

Tomorrow he would begin his planning, for what to do when Harry Potter returned to the wizarding world.

**_Author's Note: _**_So it begins. What do you think?_

_I was always intrigued by the way the portrayal of Malfoy and Snap shifted during the series. I wanted to write something where the two of them started in the position that they ended in in the original stories, and see how that changed the outcome. Would Draco be such a prat, if his father and mentor weren't so biased? How would Harry interact with these types of people, both of whom are dark (or at least have been) but have something they've found that was more important. And what will happen to Snape and Lucius, later on?_

_We'll just have to wait and see._


	2. Chapter 2: The Beginning

**Chapter One: The Beginning (Ten years later)**

Severus Snape scowled at the double doors leading to the Great Hall and made an effort to keep his fingers from tapping on the table. He never did like attending the feasts, but he was impatient for this one to start. Or, to be precise, he was impatient for the Sorting. He studied the closed doors, waiting for them to open, waiting to see the first years brought in, and one boy in particular.

Harry Potter was coming to Hogwarts. And soon, he would be sorted into a House, and he would get to see what the boy was really like.

He'd heard that Hagrid had taken the boy to pick up his school supplies, and had been gone to speak to the groundskeeper after that, to see what he could learn. Hagrid often accompanied him to gather potion ingredients in the Forbidden Forest, and he grew others for him. Most times, he tolerated the giant's company, and let the man speak to him without replying much, but this time he'd engaged the man in conversation, and steered that conversation toward Harry Potter. And Hagrid, genial soul that he was, had been happy to detail his visit with the boy. He'd also been somewhat unhappy with Potter's relatives, and quite willing to detail that as well. Severus tapped his finger against his glass, then stilled it with conscious effort as his mind replayed the facts that he had gleaned from Hagrid's rambling discourse.

Harry Potter was a small lad. _'He's just a wee bit of a thing. Looks like a good wind would blow him right over. Skinny as a half starved mouse, that 'un. Mind, if the way his cousin acted while I was there, snatchin' at the food without so much as thought, were any indication of normal happenin's then I ain't surprised.'_ Well, Potter might be undernourished, or he might just be a lad with an active system and a slender build. Besides, at Hagrid's size, most people were small. He might have misrepresented the boy's size.

Potter was supposed to be a rather polite and quiet child. _'Hardly a word out of him at first. Was afraid he didn't have no spark at all, but he warmed up quick. But he's got a good head, and knows his manners that one. Nary a stop, that he didn't say his please and thank you.' _Again, Hagrid was hardly the best judge of what good manners were versus passable ones, but the thought that the boy might not be a hooligan was a pleasing one. So were the possibilities that Potter had a good mind, and some spirit to him.

Potter had been completely ignorant of the Wizarding World until Hagrid arrived._ 'Didn't know he could do magic. Didn't even know magic existed. His relatives kep' it from him. Told him Lily and James died in a car crash, of all things! Said to his face that they intended on stampin' the magic out of him when he were a young 'un. Didn't know the first thing about magic, nor money, or nothin'. Blimey, I had to be the one to tell the poor lad how his parents really died, and why everyone on the street were starin' at him and tryin' to shake his hand.'_ That made him angry, a cold formless anger quite as potent as anything the Marauders had ever induced in him. Well, it was possible that his relatives had only done it as a sort of protection, to keep him from getting into trouble, but he doubted it. Not when Hagrid had let slip who Harry Potter had been living with.

Harry Potter had been raised by his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley. He knew Petunia, though only Dumbledore knew that he would have known Lily's sister. If the way Hagrid had spoken of her had been any indication, she was as spiteful an adult as she had been a child. In which case, he doubted she'd withheld news of her nephew's magic out of anything other than spite. He also doubted she'd been at all kind to a wizard child in her home. She hadn't been to her magically talented sister, and she'd loved Lily before magic came between them.

There were plenty of other things that Hagrid had let slip, or implied. That Harry was nervous in crowds, but delighted by even the mundane forms of travel. That the boy's clothing had been second hand, at best, according to Hagrid's off hand comment that the lad 'cleaned up right smart, not wearing those oversized clothes of his'. That Harry was money-conscious, and cautious, a trait more normal to children either raised responsibly or self-sufficient, but not to a pampered child such as he might once have assumed the boy to have been. That the boy was shy, hesitant about asking questions. An odd trait, considering neither James Potter nor Lily Evans had such reservations.

The creak of the huge double doors being pushed open shook him out of his thoughts. He sat up, watching as small group of students came shuffling into the hall. He spotted Draco Malfoy's platinum blond hair, just like his fathers, the red that marked another Weasley, and finally...tousled black hair, over green eyes rimmed by dark-framed glasses. Harry Potter. Severus sat up straighter, watching the boy as the first years lined up and the Sorting Hat started it's song. He didn't bother listening to the sorting song, he was too busy watching the boy.

The black unruly hair was all James. The green eyes were Lily's. The facial structure was cast more after James, so much so that a first glance would say the boy looked almost exactly like his father, especially with those glasses. But a closer study revealed a more...delicate cast to his face. A little higher cheekbones, slightly more pointed chin. Lily's influence refined James' features in subtle ways. Not something you'd notice if you weren't looking for it. But he was.

That had been part of his own preparations for Harry Potter's coming to Hogwarts. He and Lucius had met once and twice a month almost every month for the past ten years, working on their positions and what they needed to do.

For Lucius, he had introduced the man to aspects of the Muggle world that could be pleasing, or at least interesting, to a man such as Malfoy. And he had given the man pointers on what a Muggle-born or Muggle-raised child would find confusing about Wizard society, things they would not have seen and comprehended, things that they might find fascinating. Things they might find frightening, or disconcerting. His own experience as a boy and his position as a school teacher had left him numerous opportunities to study and understand such things, and a chance to refine the arguments that a man like Lucius might use to defend the pureblood point of view without sounding prejudiced and derogatory. Lucius had listened to those arguments, and begun to put them into practice, especially in discussions with Narcissa and Draco.

He had also introduced Lucius to the world that existed for those who were not rich and powerful. As much as Lucius' views of blood purity and superiority had needed to be altered, so did his responses to the 'disadvantaged' and poorer folk of society. Lucius would probably never lose that air of aristocratic superiority and arrogance that he had, but several doses of close exposure to life beyond the walls of his manor and the ministry had tempered it a bit.

He still remembered to look on the older man's face after an overheard conversation where one townsman had been heard to stoutly declare 'least it's honest labor, it is. Not like those rich city toffs, with nothin' to do but sit and watch other men do the work. I can say my hands have done things, I can, an' that's more than any o' them can say.' The man had been roundly toasted by everyone else in hearing distance. Severus himself had taken a rather ironic pleasure in meeting Lucius' eyes and raising his glass in salute.

His own preparations had involved confronting the ghosts of his past. His grief and guilt over Lily was a private thing, but Lucius had gotten him drunk enough to release the emotions, to work through some of his turmoil. He would have been furious, save that he had verified, and Narcissa had confirmed, that Lucius had made sure to not overhear the details. Lucius's method had consisted of getting him drunk to the point of explosion, or tears, then removing the alcohol and leaving him behind silencing spells, checking on him every half-hour until the explosion had run it's course. Usually when he had passed out. He had been humiliated the first time it had happened (Lucius never did say what drink he'd given him, but it had been potent, and not easily identified as alcohol), when he had returned to consciousness and sobriety to find tear tracks on his face, his clothing disordered and his hands raw with pounding them into the stone.

Lucius had offered him a potion for the headache and nausea, had a house elf bring him water to clean up with, and asked if he remembered what he had done and said. He had. Lucius had asked if it had helped. It had. He was still embarrassed, and had apologized to both Malfoys for his behavior. But Lucius had only shrugged and said that the outburst had been the entire point. Narcissa had forgiven him, but there had been an odd look of understanding and compassion in her eyes, and she had warmed up to him a great deal after that first time.

He had refused to drink with Lucius after that, until the Malfoy patriarch had sworn him an oath not to do it again without warning. And until Narcissa had pointed out, quite reasonably, that there were no better methods. He was too paranoid to be caught off guard with either a potion or a spell. Too good a dueler to be overpowered with the latter, and too good a Potions Master to be tricked into taking the former. He was, by nature, too self contained to voluntarily reveal his emotions, much less discuss them. And he was quite capable of rationalizing and locking away his feelings and his responses, of presenting to the world only the face he wanted them to see.

They'd negotiated, and agreed after the second year that Lucius was permitted to get him drunk on Halloween (the night his memories were the worst anyway) and in return, he had days where he dragged Lucius into the Muggle world. The first time he had outfitted Lucius in cotton trousers and a plain shirt and showed him around his hometown had been almost worth the embarrassment. He hadn't liked showing Lucius the poverty of his upbringing, but teaching the older man that those less fortunate had a pride and ferocity of their own had been satisfying, in it's own way.

He had also dueled Lucius multiple times, at the older man's insistence. They had discussed the Marauders antics, though he hadn't told Lucius about the worst of them. It had taken time for Lucius to see how deep his anger ran, his hatred, and even more time for the older Slytherin to force him to confront it. After that, Lucius had dueled him, often using the Marauder's favorite taunts to get a rise from him, or some of the hexes that brought out his worst memories. He'd even gone so far, once or twice, as to conjure a glamor of himself looking like James Potter or Sirius Black. Losing his temper (and losing the match for a mistake made in anger) had given Severus better control. The satisfaction of beating someone with James Potter's face had done much for unhealed hurts. The sheer catharsis of dueling had helped as well.

"Potter, Harry." The name called, the name he was most interested in hearing, jarred him once more from his thoughts. He focused on the now smaller group in front of the Hat as the skinny, dark-haired lad stepped up and settled onto the stool. Draco, he noticed, had been sorted into Slytherin. Well, he'd expected that, and that was good. He could keep a better eye on the boy that way.

The Sorting Hat was taking it's time with Harry Potter. He wondered why. Then, just as he was starting to get nervous, the hat shouted "Gryffindor!" The boy pulled off the Hat and dashed over to sit at the Gryffindor table.

Gryffindor. Well, that would make his task of getting to know the boy a bit harder. Still, it wasn't impossible. Nor was the result unexpected. After all, Harry's parents had both been Gryffindors. So had Hagrid. And the expression on the lad's face, relief and joy and shy amazement...it wasn't James. That expression was like the one Lily had worn.

Well. The boy might look like James Potter, but he wasn't his father's son. Not completely. For one thing, he appeared to be a great deal quieter and more shy than his father had been. It remained to be seen whether his actions in class, once he got settled in, were more his mother or his father.

The last child, Blaise Zabini, was sorted into Slytherin. The Headmaster started the feast, and Severus helped himself to a fair helping of everything in reach.

Potter...Harry Potter, in Gryffindor. Draco Malfoy in Slytherin. That would make his plans and Lucius's more difficult. But not impossible. He would have to owl the older man and see what he thought. For now...

For now, there was dinner. He would have Potter in Potions later this week, and then he would see what the boy was made of. He would plan his strategy in handling the boy from there.

***FWBtD***

The schedule dictated that First Year Potions for Gryffindors and Slytherins would be Friday morning, the first class of the day. That gave him plenty of time to settle his new students, remind his older ones of the rules, and observe Harry Potter.

Physically, he was forced to concede that Hagrid had been right. The lad was on the small, skinny side. He ate at meals, not so little as to seem unhealthy, but less than one might expect a child of his age to eat. And while he couldn't hear conversations at the Gryffindor table from his own seat at the staff table, it did seem that the boy was quiet and rather withdrawn, as opposed to the brash, loud figure his father had been. And he did appear somewhat nervous in crowds. In other aspects...

The boy had made friends with the youngest child of the Weasley brood. Ronald, if he recalled the name correctly. The two of them got lost, got into fights with Peeves, fell into trick stairs and discovered trick doors with much the same regularity as every other first year. Weasley always looked a bit unkempt, and Potter's hair was always a mess. Not having had them in class, he couldn't say what level of preparedness they showed upon arriving, but at least Potter's book bag was always with him, and was always filled, at least partially, with paper and books. That was something at least, though a part of his mind whispered nastily that they were most likely books on Quidditch or flying, or books that highlighted Potter's fame and special status as the Boy-who-lived. The thoughts made him itch to hex the brat. He forced them back.

He listened from his corner of the staff room. The boy was, educationally, a typical First Year so far. He was no better or worse than most of his classmates. Some of the teachers expressed slight unhappiness and puzzlement. He contained the urge to sneer at them. Yes, the boy might have inherited his parents skills. But he'd only known he was a wizard for a month. He'd been raised in a magic free environment. Neither Lily nor James had come to school with that handicap. James had been raised in pureblood society, with the best of the best and magic surrounding him from his first breath. Lily had learned of magic from Severus himself three years before they went to Hogwarts, and had known at least a few things. But Harry Potter...well, even if he'd been the next Merlin, he had to have time to adapt before he could display that fact, and one month compared to ten years wasn't that long to make up the difference.

It was Wednesday before the knock he'd been expecting came, and he opened his office door to admit Draco Malfoy. "Draco."

"Professor Snape. My father said I should speak to you if I had a problem. And since you're my Head of House as well...if it's no trouble..." Grey eyes looked up at him.

"Of course. Come in." He gestured the young man into his office and shut the door, then indicated for Draco to take a seat across the desk from him. "What seems to be the problem? You have not yet attended my class. I have heard no rumors of your having particular problems settling into Slytherin either." He folded his hands in front of him.

"It isn't that sir. It's just, my father..." Draco paused. "My father suggested I become friends with Harry Potter, sir. But he's already friends with that Weasley. And he's a Gryffindor. And he rebuffed me before the Sorting." Draco's face twisted in a scowl.

Severus suppressed an urge to sigh. "His status in Gryffindor might prove troublesome, however, the difference is not insurmountable. I have known Gryffindors and Slytherins who maintained an alliance, and some who were even friends, though it will require considerable effort on your part, and possibly his as well. It will be up to you to convince him to make such an effort, as well as convince him of your sincerity. The same can be said of his friendship with Weasley. It is not an insurmountable obstacle. As for his rejection of you...tell me how the encounter went. In detail."

He listened to Draco's explanation, and suppressed a wince. The boy had still taken after the worst of his father. Even with he and Lucius both trying to moderate his world view. Then again, he was young, trying to make a good impression, and drawing upon the habits of a lifetime of exposure to upper echelon pure-blood society responses. Under pressure, his response was understandable. He sighed, then linked his fingers in front of him, flexing his hands idly as he thought through the best way to explain things to the boy in front of him.

"I have not been able to monitor Potter's life. However, I do have some sources of information regarding him. Enough to tell you that your approach was the absolutely wrong one to take with him."

Draco winced, eyes going wide. Severus held up a hand to silence him, and continued speaking.

"According to my sources, Potter was raised by Muggles. How affectionate, I cannot say, but whether a loving family or no, several facts were made clear to me. First of all, he was raised in total ignorance of the wizarding world, up to and including his own role in it. He does not fully understand that he is famous, as of yet, or what that means in this place. He has no concept at all of Wizard history, or society, or of current politics. Your family name means nothing to him. The concepts of pure-blood, half-blood, and privilege mean nothing to him. I doubt very much that he thinks in those terms, as I know you have been taught to do. Likewise, with his upbringing and the fact that he is a Gryffindor, I doubt that his mindset is particularly geared toward alliances and such. Potter doubtless chooses his friends by far more random means."

Draco looked shocked. "Harry Potter...was raised by Muggles? He doesn't know anything?"

"Nothing. I had a chance to speak to the staff member assigned to take him to Diagon Alley. The family who raised him kept him in such ignorance that he did not even know the true manner of his parent's deaths. Whether this was an initiative they took for his protection, or in denial, or whether it was on Dumbledore's orders when he was placed there, I do not know. I know only the facts of the matter."

"That's..."

"Indeed. In addition, there are indications, according to the same staff member, that the family who raised Potter possessed...moderate monetary resources only."

"Moderate...you mean he was raised by poor people?" Draco's eyes widened even further.

"If you wish to characterize it as such. I would say it was more the middle class, if my understanding is correct. Not the monetary level of the Weasleys, but perhaps those of your average shop owner in Hogsmeade or Diagon Alley. However, it means that Potter has more common ground with someone like Ronald Weasley than with you, so if you insulted Weasley, Potter would most likely take it as an insult to himself as well. It also means that there exists a possibility that he has been raised to feel disdain, or even dislike, of those who possess superior financial assets, particularly if said persons flaunt their status."

Draco winced. "But...if it's like that then what am I supposed to do?"

"You have a choice. You may decide to distance yourself from Potter and ignore him. Or, if you are feeling particularly foolish..." He punctuated the word with a scowl that made Draco shrink in his chair. "You may decide to maintain this current animosity between you, and allow it to cloud your judgment. Or you may choose the third option."

"The third option?" Draco looked up.

"Indeed. Swallow your pride and apologize to Weasley for the slight. Explain to Potter that you were nervous about meeting him, and in a rush to make a strong impression, behaved foolishly. Tell him you were simply repeating habits of some of your father's associates, and did not mean to be insulting. Request a chance to make it up to him. Look for ways to show how your status and money can be beneficial, not only to yourself, but to others. But not as a bribe. Rather as a gesture of good will. And Draco..."

"Yes sir?"

"You must be sincere. If you cannot be, then do not bother. Potter will figure it out sooner or later. If you cannot be sincere, then ignore him, and stay out of it all together."

Draco scowled. "Apologizing to a Weasley...my father would never let me hear the end of it."

Severus snorted. "Explain your reasoning, and what I have told you, and I am sure he can overlook it. Besides, I know for a fact that your father is capable of the same gesture, should circumstances warrant it." Lucius had, in his own roundabout way, apologized to him, when he'd realized that Severus came from the lowest level of society, and therefore how grating his attitude could be to the younger man.

Draco swallowed. "I'll...think about it sir."

"See that you do. If there are no more questions, it is getting close to curfew." Snape rose.

"Yes sir." Draco obediently rose from his chair. "Is there anything in particular I need to know for class on Friday sir?"

"Read the first two chapters. And be prepared for a verbal pop quiz."

Draco nodded. "Yes Professor." Then he was out the door, leaving Severus to shake his head and begin composing a letter to Lucius in his mind. It was obvious they still had a great deal of work to do.

***FWBtD***

Friday morning found him tense with anticipation. He felt like he was at war with himself. Part of him still burned in anger, the dull sullen fury that seven years of persecution at the hands of James Potter and his friends had stoked. He'd done his mental exercises for Occlumency, done his meditation, reminded himself of all the things he had discussed with Lucius. He stared across the breakfast table at the slender black-haired boy, looking again for the traces of Lily in a face that was predominantly James. He found himself struggling to control his vindictive wish that the boy would be late to class, thereby earning himself a detention or point loss. Or that the boy would blow up a cauldron, which might earn him either of those as well as a potential injury. He left breakfast early and spent the time running through his meditation once more.

Finally, the clock hit the hour, and he heard the hum of youthful voices in the lab. He settled his usual forbidding scowl upon his face, then swept into the room.

He started by taking role. The little Gryffindor girl bouncing in her seat with wide, concerned eyes was one Hermione Granger. He winced internally. He liked finding those rare students who had an aptitude or interest in Potions, but he'd heard about her in the staff room. Irrepressible, with answers to everything. A know-it-all, more or less, and too enthusiastic for her own good. Even if she were the greatest Potions student of the century, he didn't look forward to trying to deal with her.

Malfoy looked bright eyed and alert. Weasley looked bored. Longbottom looked half petrified. He'd heard the boy was slightly clumsy, and hoped it was exaggerated. And Potter. Potter was watching him. "Harry Potter...our new...celebrity." The boy blinked at him, wide-eyed and nervous. Not preening. Some sort of knot in his chest relaxed. James would have been smug, looking around for attention. This boy just appeared to be slightly ill at ease.

He delivered his usual speech on 'the exact science and art of Potion-making'. Most of the students were listening. Then he spotted Potter, head bent over his paper. Fury ignited in his breast at the boy's apparent inattention. He stalked closer, intent on tearing the brat down to size, then caught sight of the boy's parchment.

He'd gotten used to reading things quickly and from all angles over the years. Even upside down. Potter was hunched over his parchment, but not far enough to obstruct his view. He glanced down, and it took a voluntary effort to stop him from pausing.

The boy was taking notes, writing out the points of what he said. Not even the Granger girl was doing that. He bit back the acidic comment on the tip of his tongue. "Potter!"

The boy looked up. "Yes sir?"

"What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?" It wasn't an easy question, but it was one it was possible to answer, if the boy had studied sufficiently.

Granger's hand shot into the air. Potter slouched a little in his chair. "I don't know sir."

"I see." He choked back a surge of vindictive glee. "Perhaps a different question. Where would you look if I told you to find me a beozar?" With the amount of poisonous substances in potions, that was one of the first things listed in the book.

Potter looked blank, then flushed. "I don't know sir."

Either the boy hadn't studied, or his retention rate wasn't that high. Or he'd looked into his textbook, but not bothered to to absorb the information. Severus bit back another acidic comment, and replaced it with one he'd use for anyone who wasn't Potter. "Clearly, a little more effort is required on your part, Mr. Potter."

Potter flushed again, and looked somewhat mutinous. Ron glowered. Then Potter nodded. "Yes sir."

A better response than he'd hoped to get. "For your information, monkshood and wolfsbane are the same plant, also known as aconite. And a beozar is a stone found in the stomach of a goat, and will save you from poisons." Potter reached for his pen to take notes. Severus snapped his gaze to the rest of the classroom. "Well? Why aren't you writing that down?" Everyone else jumped to take notes as well.

He set them to making a potion to cure boils, then went back to his desk. He kept one eye on the classroom, as he always did, but his gut was still churning. Old hatreds warred with lessons learned, and his temper had never been good. He felt his lip twist in a self deprecating sneer.

Twenty minutes later, Longbottom's cauldron melted, sending up green clouds, and a wash of liquid that covered the boy in large, painful boils and burned holes in everything else. His temper jumped at the chance for an outlet. He banished the potion, then rounded on the hapless boy. "Foolish boy. You added the porcupine quills before you took the cauldron off the fire!" He saw Potter standing nearby, and had to stifle the urge to blame the boy. Instead he snarled out a command for Longbottom's partner, Seamus Finnegan, to take the boy to the Hospital Wing, and gestured for everyone else to keep working.

It wasn't going to work. He could still feel the irrational rage simmering in the back of his mind. He'd thought ten years and his work with Lucius would help. But unless he did something, Potter would hate him by Christmas term, if he did not already, and he had no doubt that he would sense it. He didn't think he'd be able to control his tongue or his temper in that case. And then Merlin help them both if the Dark Lord arose, or something happened where he and Potter needed to work together. Or worse, he needed the brat to trust him.

He spent the rest of the class ruminating over the problem. Two minutes to end of class, he called for samples. Malfoy's was perfect, but it ought to be, with the advance warning he'd had. The others were in various states. Some were useless sludge. Granger had managed almost the same quality as Malfoy. Potter's was nowhere near perfect, but it wasn't a complete disaster. Looked like he'd gone a little too fast on the final steps. But it did provide an excuse for what he thought he needed to do.

He waited until the boy brought the vial up, then made a show of examining it. "Hardly useable, Potter. Return this evening at 6pm, to discuss your study habits and your...aptitude." He couldn't quite keep the sneer out of his voice on the last word.

Potter flushed and looked angry but he nodded. "Yes sir." Then he turned and left the class, towed by the Weasley boy.

Severus settled at his desk and took deep breaths. He didn't want to talk to Potter, but this wasn't going to work. The only thing he could think of was to tell the truth, or at least a version of the truth, and hope the boy understood. Otherwise, they would be at blind, impossible hatred before the boy's second year. Or worse, someone else, like Dumbledore or McGonnagall would tell the boy their version of the truth. They had all loved James, and would make him sound like a bitter, foolish youth. So. Better to tell Potter something now, before his perceptions were set in stone.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. All too soon, he was pacing before his door, trying to decide what he was going to say to James Potter's son. What he could say, that wouldn't make him sound like a bitter bastard. Which was difficult. In essence, he was a bitter bastard.

Right at 6, there was a knock on his door. He straightened. "Enter."

Potter stepped inside and approached his desk. "Sir."

"Sit." he gestured for Potter to take the chair directly in front of the desk. "Do you know what you did wrong on this?" he held up Potter's sample.

Potter shook his head. "I...well, I think the porcupine quills were right sir, but then I got distracted by Neville's cauldron."

"You rushed the last steps. Did you count the number of rotations in your stirring as directed?" That had been his best guess for the way the boy's potion had turned out.

"I...can't remember sir." Potter flushed again.

"I suggest you pay more attention to your own potion next time, and less to Longbottom's disasters. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Potter looked half embarrassed, half angry.

Severus felt his lips thin in anger. He forced it back. The boy's face was so like James. James of all those years ago. "You were taking notes in class. I suggest you read do the same for the reading, and read a chapter or two ahead. Note taking will assist your retention of material, as will doing proper research for your essays. Understood?"

"Yes sir." Now there was a dose of confusion in Potter's expression.

He turned away, forced himself to control his breathing. "Potter."

"Yes sir?" The voice was hesitant, and lighter, higher than James' had been. The sound steadied him.

"What I am about to tell you I will say only once. So remember it." He took a deep breath. "Doubtless, you have heard of how your parents died. Perhaps you have even had people tell you that you look like your father, or that you have your mother's eyes."

"Hagrid said all those things, sir."

"You will hear it again." He took another breath, holding onto his temper with both hands. It was harder than he thought it would be. "As you will doubtless hear about your father's flying prowess, his friends, his skill in Transfiguration. Many people here remember James Potter. He was a golden boy of Hogwarts." He paused, then spoke the words that most needed to be said. "I, however, do not remember your father in such a positive light. I despised him."

"Sir?"

"James Potter and I were contemporaries. And rivals. And bitter enemies." He felt his hands clench into fists. "The details are none of your concern, though doubtless there are several staff members who can provide you with clues, should you choose to inquire." He would not, could not, tell the boy what James Potter had done to him in the seven years of school. "Suffice it to say, I loathed him, and the feeling has not greatly diminished since our schoolboy days."

"I think I understand sir. But I'm not my dad. I don't even remember him." There was confusion in Potter's voice, but also a thread of sullen anger. As well there might be. Even as part of his mind tried to fan the flames of his own fury, he remembered what it was like, to be insulted and harassed for things you had no control over.

"I am aware of that, Potter. And I shall endeavor to keep it in mind. However, do not expect me to succeed all the time."

There was a rustle of cloth. "Would it help if you called me Harry?"

"No." He wasn't even sure he could physically do so. "Such a first name basis would be considered inappropriate. You are not in my House, Potter, and I have no grounds for that familiarity. There are other reasons as well, which I do not have time nor ability nor even desire to explain to you at this time."

"Then...is there anything...that will make you hate me less? I mean...I don't want favoritism sir, but...if you just hate me for my dad..."

He turned and met green eyes in the face of an echo of a rival. "Prove to me that you are not your father. Do your best in my class, and others. Stay out of trouble. Do not give me reasons to lose my temper. Show your teachers and your classmates the respect and dignity they deserve. Do that, Potter, and I will do my best to treat you as fairly as I may." It was the best he could promise. He clenched his jaw. "And, perhaps, one other thing."

"Sir?" Potter looked up at him.

"You are acquainted with Draco Malfoy, I believe."

The closed expression on Potter's face told him volumes about the boy's feelings. "I...somewhat sir. We don't really get on."

"I have heard as much, from Malfoy himself. I have already remonstrated with him on his attitude, and indicated the various failings he exhibited in his efforts to gain your notice." He held Potter's eyes. "There is a chance that Draco may come to you. I will not press you to make peace on any terms other than your own. I do not care. However..." He paused, feeling the muscles in his jaw clench, and sharp pain where his nails had cut his hand. "Your father was incapable of looking past House rivalries and petty details. Prove that you are better, and perhaps I shall change my views."

Potter grimaced, but didn't say anything right away. Finally, he shrugged. "Ron won't like it. But, I guess, if Draco does apologize, and he's serious about it...I guess I don't mind. As long as he doesn't make fun of Ron, or Gryffindor House, or things like that. I think I could at least try, Professor."

It was a better bargain than he'd hoped for. Not that anything would necessarily come of it. Draco might be unable to swallow his pride. When the time came, Weasley might influence Potter too much. But it was better odds than he'd had before.

There was nothing else to say. "You're dismissed Potter. Do not tell anyone what I have just told you." The boy nodded. "And be sure to be better prepared for next class, if you wish to avoid my temper."

Potter stood up. "Yes Professor." Then he turned and darted out the door. Severus watched the door close behind him, then went through the door in the back of the classroom to his office, to settle in his desk chair. His jaw ached with tension as he forced himself to relax, and one palm was bleeding, where one of his nails had cut his skin. He took a moment to master his breathing, then pulled out a slave he kept in his office for accidents and spread it over the wound.

He hoped Potter took his advice, and his warning. In the meantime, he needed to send another letter to the Malfoys. Perhaps Lucius or Narcissa would have some advice for him.

****FWBtD****

Harry Potter trotted away from the Potions classroom, feeling more than a little confused.

The first week of classes had been weird. Staircases that moved, ghosts, and the classes themselves. Flitwick had fallen off his chair, he'd been so excited to meet him. Harry didn't understand that, any more than he understood the stares and whispers that followed him around, people muttering about his scar. It made him uncomfortable.

And now this business with Snape. He'd gotten the impression at the Welcoming Feast that Snape didn't like him for some reason. And the man had been pretty sharp in class, and looked like he'd wanted to be worse. After Snape had singled him out and demanded he come back, Ron had warned him that Snape could get pretty nasty. He'd heard a lot of horror stories about Snape's detentions over the course of the day. He'd come down expecting anything from an insulting lecture to hours of scrubbing pots and cleaning disgusting ingredients.

Instead, he'd gotten a mild lecture on how to improve his potions and his study habits, and the oddest explanation he had ever heard in his life. Snape and his dad had been rivals? Either Snape was a vindictive bastard, or his dad had been a right prat. Or both. Snape had almost sort of apologized, which had never happened with an adult who had disliked him or treated him unfairly. Certainly, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had never done anything of the sort.

Harry sighed. He felt confused by Snape's actions. He'd gotten the impression at the Feast, and in class, that Snape really didn't like him. Now it seemed like Snape just didn't like the fact that he happened to look like his dad. It seemed as pointless as his aunt and uncle's hatred of him because he was magic. It wasn't fair.

A thin thread of anger and hurt moved through him. Then Snape's words came back to him. Snape had admitted, sort of, that he was wrong. He had said, if Harry could do the things he asked, that he would at least be fair, even if he couldn't be nice. He'd heard promises of that sort from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon too, but it was also true that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't explained why they loathed Harry, not until Hagrid had forced them to.

Snape had. And the things he'd asked Harry to do he'd explained were things that would directly affect how he viewed Harry. Not meaningless chores or things he didn't understand, or impossible tasks.

Do his best in class. He didn't see why he shouldn't. It wasn't like he had to worry about Dudley claiming he had cheated. And Snape had told him what would help for his class, at least. Harry sighed at the thought of doing more homework, and how much his hand might ache taking all those extra notes. Still, with all the rumors he'd heard abut Snape, and the man's own admitted bias against him, it'd be stupid not to do what Snape said, at least for a while. If it worked, then he'd know Snape was being honest with him, and that he should continue. If it didn't, he'd know Snape was just like his family, and he could decide whether or not it was worth it in other terms.

Show teachers and students the respect they deserved. He didn't have a problem with that, as long as they gave him the same treatment. Stay out of trouble. Well, he wasn't planning on getting into any.

He scowled, remembering Snape's last suggestion to him. To befriend Malfoy. Or at least be civil to him. That one he didn't like. Malfoy was too much like Dudley, all arrogance and sneering and prejudice, with bully-boys backing him up like Dudley's gang did back home. He was a brat, and Harry wanted none of him.

Well, but Snape had said he had talked to Malfoy and told him he was wrong. And he'd said Harry only had to make peace on his own terms, if he thought Malfoy was being sincere, and not a prat, or just doing it to curry favor.

He thought about it, then decided to wait and see what Malfoy did first. Ron wouldn't like it much, he thought, but maybe he could make Malfoy apologize to Ron too. Maybe he could even make that part of his terms for being friends with Malfoy.

That settled, he made his way to Gryffindor Tower, feeling much lighter at heart than he had when he'd left.

Ron was waiting inside the portrait hole. "Harry!" he smiled. "I didn't think you'd get back so soon." He looked Harry over. "Fred and George...some of the things they've been telling me about Snape's detentions...I thought you'd be hours."

Harry shook his head. "He just wanted to tell me what I did wrong on the potion, and tell me to use better study habits. That's all. He didn't even yell at me or anything. He just lectured me on doing my work properly, and reading ahead, and paying proper attention to my cauldron. That sort of stuff." He settled on the couch beside Ron and lifted a text book out of his bag.

"Really? That's strange. Well, maybe Fred and George were having us on again, then." Ron flopped next to Harry. Then a faint scowl crossed his face. "Still...it's not bloody fair of him to come down on you like that. Loads of people did worse than you did on that potion, and I didn't hear Snape tell them off, or make them come down to the dungeons for a lecture."

Harry grimaced. Snape had told him not to say anything about what else he'd revealed. He wanted to trust Ron with it, but didn't think now was a good time. He settled on the first excuse that came to mind. "Reckon he was annoyed that I couldn't answer those questions at the beginning of class. That's why."

Ron's scowl deepened. "No one else answered them."

Harry grimaced. "Well, no, but he didn't ask anyone else, did he? And I'll bet at least Hermione Granger knew the answers."

Ron huffed in exasperation. "I suppose." Then he grinned and nudged Harry with an elbow. "Come on mate, we've got the whole weekend. Let's relax for the rest of tonight. We can always do the homework later, yeah?"

Harry grinned back. "Yeah. I guess." He set his textbook down and watched Ron saunter off to pick up a deck of cards for a game he'd showed Harry the other day, Exploding Snap. Minutes later, they were both dodging exploding cards, and he was relaxing.

It was good to have Ron as a friend, someone to laugh and share things with, and gripe over the unfairness of the staff with. He still planned to do what Snape suggested, and see where it led. But for now, he was going to relax and have some fun.

_**Author's Note: **And they're off. This fic is going to start pretty close to cannon, and then probably diverge more as the series goes on. I'm not sure how much divergence there will be yet. _

_It may seem a little out of character for Snape to be giving Harry explanations. But Snape isn't an idiot, and he's been working for 10 years with Lucius. By now, both of them know that his dislike of James is his greatest weakness. This way, he's given Harry incentive to do things that help their relationship (therefore leaving Harry more open to listening to him when needed) and he's given Harry a chance to hear his side of the story before Harry gets inundated with how great James Potter is. And by being the first person to bring it up, and admitting that he might be unreasonable, he almost invites Harry to confront him, if Harry thinks he's unfair. In short, he's taken at least partial control over a potentially explosive situation. To me, this is far more intelligent than staying silent. _


End file.
